"You met me at a very strange time in my life." – Fight Club

Remembering What Happy Felt Like

I asked the kid working in the produce department where the corn on the cob was at, and he did the best Fat Bastard (Austin Powers) imitation I’ve ever heard when he straightened up, patted his stomach, and said, “It’s in mah belly!” He and I both got a good laugh out of that, probably too much of one because it drew a lot of weird stares, and he finally wiped the laugh-tears from his eyes and said, “Actually ma’am, the corn’s over there.”

I paid for my corn and other groceries, and my sister and I stopped and bought Jesus necklaces from the gumball machine on the way out. “You especially need this,” I told her, and made her put it on right there in the exit. “It probably won’t work to protect me because you bought it so you could mock it,” she said, forcing the string down over her head.

“I’m not mocking it! I just think Jesus looks at all this human stuff on a level playing field, it’s all the same to Jesus, whether it’s playing checkers or buying an SUV, eating oyster crackers with your soup, or buying fake-ruby religious necklaces from a gumball machine. I think Jesus figures, ‘Hey if you like it, I like it. Oh, snap!’ “

“Jesus doesn’t say ‘Oh, snap.’ “

“Just put your necklace on and be thankful you have a fucking neck to wear it.”

Then we sat in the car and surveyed the parking lot while we ate clam chowder from the supermarket salad bar, and my sister said, “A house over on Jenny Lind Street blew up yesterday. It exploded. Nobody was hurt, so that’s good.”

“Let’s finish our lunch and go look at it,” I suggested.

“Do you think they’ll let us near it?”

“I’d bet money that we could walk right up and sit on whatever’s left of the front steps if we wanted to. People are weird at these things, there are so many people around, nobody knows who’s who. Let’s go.”

“Do we need hard hats?”

“God, I’d love to wear a hard hat. A pink one, like the women on Dirty Jobs. Maybe they’ve got one there I could borrow. If they do, do you want one too?”

“Absolutely not,” my sister said.

Jenny Lind is a very picturesque little side street, lined on both sides by big shade trees and old homes that once belonged to factory workers at the Ames Shovel Co. downtown. It’s a narrow street, and as we got closer to the action I noticed there was a huge car right on my bumper.

“I have no idea. See that house over there? I had a HUGE CRUSH on the kid who lived there. But he was deaf and made fun of me in sign language.”

My sister, who has too much sympathy for people, said, “Ohhh, that’s too bad, Wendy. It must have hurt when he made fun of you.”

“Well, I suppose if I thought about it, it’s probably the root of my hatred of deaf people.”

“You hate them?”

“Pretty much, yeah. They don’t like me, and I’ve never known why. Once, when I was a basketball cheerleader in junior high, we were playing a deaf school and the entire deaf team of basketball players were mimicking us in a really unflattering way. It was very insulting and embarrassing. And we looked so cute! What a waste. Their coaches didn’t even stop them, just let them go on and on, so our coach finally told us we could sit out the rest of the game. It was the only way she could stop them. I have lots of other stories about deaf people and what they’ve done to me, shall I go on?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, look at the house! I’m getting out.” I parked near the exploded house, which was just a giant pile of splintered wood, and took some photos.

“Did anybody say anything to you?”

“One guy said hi to me, but that was it. Who lived there?”

“A bunch of young kids from the college, and they all got out, thank God. Bay State Gas was digging out front, they hit something, and the house blew up. It’s the second time in six months that they’ve done it. They blew up a house in Walpole.They’re not very good.”

On the ride back to the trailer park, my sister asked me what made me feel safe as a kid.

“Mr. Rogers,” I told her. “I used to sit on the couch in the den and watch him every day at five. He was consistent, and relaxing, and a lot of times he’d put me to sleep. At least, until the fucking trolley whistle woke me up. Mom was making dinner in the kitchen, back when people were allowed to eat macaroni and cheese, and warm rolls with butter.”

“I was thinking about it the other day, trying to remember the last time I felt safe and happy,” my sister said. “It turns out it was a really long time ago, when I was little. You weren’t born yet. I would sit with my record player, all my 45s were around me. 45s were all different colors in those days. I liked cowboy songs, Gene Autry and Tex Ritter and stuff, and I listened to them and watched the records go round.”

“Ugh. Sounds awful. Like some form of hell.”

“No, it was very nice. It was the last time I felt safe and truly happy. I was a little girl, but I remember it clearly. What are you doing? Are you turning the tape recorder on? I’m not a beacon of wisdom, . . . “

“No, I’m turning it up. I’ve had it on all morning, even when we were walking through the new Target. Why does everyone freak out about the tape recorder?”

“I suppose people are freaked about saying something and then having it appear on the Internet in quotes.”

“You’re not freaked, are you?”

“No. At this point in my life, your recording my every word is the least of my problems. It’s very, very low on my list of priorities. Actually, it’s not on my list at all.”

Sarah – Ha, actually it proves without a doubt that you’re definitely my niece. I cannot spell at all. I have to have spell check AND a dictionary on my lap. I believe it’s a missing gene or something . . .

Missy – Thank you! You guys are FABULOUS.
And Mr. Rogers is the man. You know, come to think of it, I think he taught me to tie my shoes too. I never really got it till he broke it down for me. I wish he had tackled algebra or something for me, my life might have been really different. I could have worked as NASA.

Hi Wendy ! It’s me…. your sister . I just read your blog today . I laughed my butt off ! Oh- My – God ! So stinkin funny ! Are you serious about the K.Burns oranges ?
Are they a special specie of orange , some type of hybrid ? How is it that Martha hasnt had them in her magazine or on her show ? Can you print a picture of Ken Burns so I may comment on his alleged youthful appearance ? I know who he
is , but have no clue as to what he looks like .
Oh and I’m writing under Missy’s name because I do not have an e-mail address anymore. { I dont know how to work the spell check on this comp. Did I misspell ALLEGED ?}
See you at home – Joann
p.s. Where is that website displaying Val Kilmer’s Doc Holiday hat ?

hey its me again – I just saw how my message came out . My paragraphs are all cockeyed ! It didnt do that when I was writing it out ! Just so everyone knows I did not submit it
such disorder . Can I fix it ? Its too late isnt it .
okay here goes this one … Jo-Ann